In 1992, a 49 year old golfer named Freddy Couples stood on the green of the 12th hole at Augusta and watched his ball roll off the green and down the embankment to the water hazard below. That ball should have gone in the water; every other ball to ever roll down that hill, (I believe) in the history of Augusta, had gone in. Physics demanded the ball roll in.

The ball didn't roll in. It came to rest on the lip of the green, no more than an inch from the water and, probably, the end of Freddy's career.

There is no logical reason the ball stayed in play. It just shouldn't have stopped. It couldn't have stopped. The gathering crowds stood in awe, stared, and watched what should have been a double bogey turn into a par-3 and then Fred Couples' first Master's win. After a life devoted to remembering it, he found his authentic swing and won the grandest award offered in his sport.

Shortly after the game was over, before he'd left the course, a local reporter grabbed him and asked him, "Fred, what will you remember most about this day?" Freddy turned to glance over his shoulder to his wife, turned back to the reporter, gave a little wink to the camera and said one word.